I started a rhythm, slow but building, every stroke matched to her breath and the way her nails bit into my back. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, her body learning the rhythm as we moved together.
The fire painted us gold, flickers of light racing over her skin. I watched every ripple of pleasure cross her face, every bite of her lip, every time she tried to hide her sounds behind the back of her hand. I pinned her hands down, made her look at me.
“Don’t hide,” I said. “I want to see everything.”
She didn’t look away. Not once.
Her walls fluttered around me, and I knew she was close, so I reached between us, rubbed slow circles around her clit, and her whole body went rigid. She came again, her voice breaking on my name, and the sight of her undid me. I poured everything I was into her, holding her tight as I came, shaking and gasping like a man starved too long at last allowed to feast. Again my wolf howled inside of me,“Mate.”I wanted to knot her; I’d felt the urge. My teeth started to elongate for my bite, but I’d willed them to stop. I had to wait. I didn’t want to hurt her.
For a long minute, we just breathed together, heartbeats thumping in sync.
I pulled out and rolled us onto our sides, spooning her close, tucking her against my chest. She burrowed into me, wrapping my arm around her waist.
“Is this okay?” I asked, not wanting to break the spell.
She nodded, sleep already heavy in her voice. “I’ve never felt this safe. Or happy.”
I kissed the back of her head, inhaled her scent, and let myself believe the universe might finally be on my side.
After a few minutes, I got up and went to the en suite and soaked a cloth in hot water. She was drifting off to sleep when I carefully spread her legs and cleaned the evidence of our lovemaking. Her contented sigh gave me a sense of wholeness I’d not felt since before I’d experienced the terror of that bomb almost ten years ago. I crawled into bed next to her and pulled her against me and slept peacefully for the first time in years.
Chapter 11
Aspen
When I woke, the sky outside Papa’s bedroom was still lavender with the last whispers of night. The air was soft and a little chilly, and the only sounds were the faint hum of the heater and the rustle of the expensive sheet over our tangled legs. His bed was enormous, the mattress cradling me so deep I felt like a pearl inside an oyster shell. I didn’t move at first, just lay there, memorizing the warmth of his bare chest under my hand as I lay cuddled to his side. I could feel his heartbeat where my forearm lay across his ribs, steady and slow.
I looked at his sleeping face slanted towards me, lips slightly parted. In the half-light, he looked even more enormous thanusual. Hair a mess, lashes thick and dark against his cheekbones, his beard shaggy from sleep. His arm opposite of where I lay cuddled, broad and muscled and battered from the remnants of war, was tucked back behind his head. His right leg was bent at the knee, his foot resting against his left knee. He looked like peace personified.
Looking at him caused something else too; a heat, low and insistent, to coil at the base of my spine. Every part of me was sore and humming from the night before, but all it took was the memory of his mouth, the way he’d looked at me like I was the answer to every prayer, and my body came alive again, hungry for more.
I propped myself up on one elbow, careful not to wake him, and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. The sheets had slipped down to his hips, and the early light made a study in shadows of every line and scar across his torso. There were so many—some white and flat, some ridged and rough, a patchwork of old wounds stitched into the map of his body. I wanted to trace every single one with my tongue.
I scooted a little closer, the mattress barely dipping beneath my weight. His cock, half-hard, peeked out from beneath the sheet, and I felt a rush of heat that made my knees go weak all over again. I’d never seen one up close before last night, not really, and even now it seemed unreal—thick, beautiful, curved toward his stomach. I reached out, slow, barely breathing, and let my fingertips hover a hairsbreadth from his skin.
I hesitated, my confidence still new and fragile, but the urge to touch him, to know him, was stronger than my nerves. I let my hand drift over his abs, pausing at every scar, every dip and hollow. I pressed a soft kiss to his belly, then another to the edge of a jagged line near his ribs. His breath hitched, just a little, but he didn’t wake.
I worked my way down, kissing my way along the path of old wounds until I reached the sheet. My heart was hammering so loud I was afraid it would wake him, but I didn’t stop. I slid the sheet down, exposing his hips and the dark line of hair that arrowed down from his belly button. I pressed my mouth to the top of his thigh, tasting salt and sleep and something uniquely him.
I let my hand wrap gently around his cock as far as it would go, not squeezing, just holding him. He twitched in my palm, swelling instantly to full hardness. The feel of him, so hot and alive, made my mouth go dry.
His voice came, rough and low, eyes still closed: “Sunshine. What are you up to?”
I froze, mortified, but he opened one eye and grinned at me, all sleepy wolf.
I lay across his belly with a small giggle. “I just wanted to touch it; to see how it feels.”
“Well, by all means, don’t let me stop you.” He waved his hand toward his erection.
The heat in my face could have lit a small town. “I, uh, wasn’t sure if you’d want—”
“I always want,” he said, rolling his other arm under his head. His cock stood proud, thick and heavy, flushed full against the tan of his stomach. He tilted his head, eyes soft. “You don’t have to be shy with me, Aspen. Not ever.”
“Only thing is…I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Do what feels right, sweetheart. I’ll tell you if I want something different. Just watch your teeth.”
That gave me courage. I shifted, tucking my legs under me, and leaned down to run my tongue along the thick ridge of his shaft. I felt him shudder, felt the muscle in his thigh jump. His hand found my hair, gentle, threading through the dark strands, not pushing but guiding.
